Worthless
by Super Vanilla Bear
Summary: Failure. Pathetic. Burden. Worthless. When Dean decides to hide away his pain and insomnia from Sam, things take a turn for the worst. limp!sick!Dean and awesome!Sam. Set during season two.


**Author's Note:** I do not own the television show _Supernatural_ or any of its characters.

Well, that was short-lived. I decided to write this few chapter story after finishing "Everything No One Else Was." It's not going to be long, but it's something. This is set in early season two, right after John's death, and Sam is still having some issues with the loss of Jess. Please let me know what you think about this one.

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_Chapter One_

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"What the hell are you looking at?" Dean's harsh words echo through Sam's aching head as he closes the trunk of the Impala. Their latest hunt, a beautiful little asshole of a changeling, kicked them around nicely, leaving them both battered and bruised. He wants nothing more than to go back to the motel and sleep for three decades, but, knowing his big brother, they'll probably be on their four in the morning food run.

Sam listens to "Baby" screech open and then shut while he climbs in the passenger seat. Dean's a little green around the gills and is ghostly pale, but it may just be from the hunt. To be honest, it was a fairly…worrisome hunt. They were shaken up quite a bit, even though Dean will probably never admit it. Sam wipes away the blood from the gash on his cheek that's trickling into his mouth and then snuggles into the leather seat, leaning his still throbbing skull on the window. It doesn't help matters much as his brother drives and hits what seems like every bump and rock in the road, but the coolness is refreshing enough to practically force his eyes shut.

Dean watches his little brother drift off to sleep, the unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach releasing a bit. He, mimicking Sam, decides to smear the blood dripping into his green orbs out of his line of vision. Jesus. What in the hell did that changeling eat? Oh wait. He can't wait until they get to the motel, but he doubts he'll get any sleep tonight either. He hasn't slept in days. Nothing wrong, though, and definitely no need to freak out Sam anymore than he probably already is due to his slip up tonight.

It wasn't his fault, really. His vision went fuzzy and black in the middle of trying to stop that ass hat, but it doesn't mean anything. He's been having these headaches that keep turning into migraines for weeks now, but Dad always said that Mom had migraines, and it's no secret as to how sick Sam can get when he has one. His baby brother can be curled up in bed for days ordering Dean around, and it'll all be fine because Dean rarely says no to him. It's obviously not too late for him to catch on to the Winchester migraine train.

He pulls into the parking lot, pays for the room, and then shoves Sam's shoulder. He startles awake, breathing heavily with his eyes already drooping shut. Stupid Sammy. _Quit trying to pull that two-year-old puppy dog crap on me._ "Rise and shine, baby bro!" he says, putting Baby into park before turning off the ignition. He grabs both his and Sam's duffels as the taller man shuffles to the door, clearly too out of it to care. Sam yawns, and Dean limps inside, out of the frigid February air.

"Want the first shower, Sammy?"

"No shower. Sleep," is all he says before he falls face first into bed. Dean knows then that he should have paid for two nights instead of one. Who knows how long Sam will be asleep. His brother tries to pull another cute stunt by curling in on himself and smooshing his cheek against the pillow. Damn mind should be a baby brother cuteness no fly zone to Dean, but what can he say? Sam's been this way since he was an infant. Everyone has always thought Sam was adorable and that Dean was just…Dean.

"C'mon, Sammy. We need to get you cleaned up."

"Don't wanna…"

"Don't care. You're bleedin' all over the place."

"So are you…"

"But I'm older." He starts dragging Sam's clothes out of his bag, along with the first aid kit.

"Mmmm…."

Dean pulls the younger Winchester into an upright position before beginning to stitch up the wound on his cheek. It's deep and leaves his stomach feeling like lead after he's done watching blood splatter down his face, but it only needs fifteen stitches to hold it closed. Next comes bandaging up his brother's fingers, two on his left and three on his right. The only Band-Aids they have are _Clifford the Big Red Dog_, and he chuckles, knowing Sam will appreciate that in the morning. Last is wrapping his swollen wrist in an ace bandage. It's sprained and will hurt later, but he doubts Sam cares right now.

His new task, and his favorite, is to get Sam into pajamas, or at least out of these bloody and smelly clothes. "Little help here, Sam," he grunts out as he single handedly gets him into a standing position. The three inches and at least twenty pounds his brother has on him does nothing to help matters, but Dean somehow, by the grace of God, gets Sam into black sweatpants and a t-shirt. He yawns himself, stretching out as he covers his brother up with this ratty old comforter. Sam's snores fill the room moments later, and Dean can't help but smile. His little brother is all he needs.

He pats Sam on the back before starting to make his way to the bathroom, cut massively off guard by the growing pain in his head. Stupid changeling. He runs a hand through his hair only to find a growing knot. Friggin' awesome. He winces, and that's when he collapses to his aching knees. His heart is beating double time in his chest, and his vision is clouded with tears. It feels like he's stopped breathing; all of his air is coming through a clogged straw. He's shaking, quivering, and trying to make color come back in his eyes. It takes a few seconds of raw panic and then everything returns to normal.

What the hell?

Fantastic. But at least he didn't pass out this time.

He gets up carefully this time, thanking the heavens that he didn't wake Sam up. Kid's been through the ringer today, and the last thing he needs to do is disturb him even more. He limps over to his duffel, pulls out flannel pajama pants and a long sleeved shirt and hits the shower, where the water feels glorious on his sore body, but it still doesn't make him tired. For some reason, nothing has been able to. He's restless, and, believe him, there's nothing more that he wants to besides get a good night's sleep.

Stiffly gimping to his bed, Dean carefully inspecting his knee as water drips from his drenched hair. It's scratched, swollen two times the size it should be, and is bruised. Son of a bitch. That'll hurt in the morning. He wraps another bandage around that before grabbing the little travel-sized mirror and stitching up the gash above his eye and then the one on his stomach. A little over fifty in all. Not bad, Winchester. Not bad.

He turns off the lights in the room, not wanting them to eventually wake Sam up, and he lies down too, gasping at the agony shredding through his knee. Yeah, Sam definitely doesn't need to know about this either. He's got enough on his plate as it is. Jess's one year anniversary of her death is coming up soon, and then there's Dad…No need to worry him with the black outs or the insomnia or the knee pain.

Dean can handle this one on his own.

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**Author's Note:** Yeah, I really am sorry if this stinks. It's just something that came to me like an hour ago. Is it worth continuing? If not, I'll probably edit it to become a one-shot. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it and want to know what's coming next! Reviews are welcomed and appreciated!


End file.
